


Close Quarters

by wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Community: lewis_challenge, Conference Fic, Lewis Summer Challenge 2015, M/M, No Room at the Inn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 18:19:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4635444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Very funny, sergeant,” Lewis growls. “So what options do I have?” </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Precisely one, by my calculation.” James reaches inside his jacket pocket and pulls out his own room-key. “We can share. Well, alternatively, one of us sleeps in your car, but I don’t recommend that. It’s going to be a cold night.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Quarters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [uniquepov](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uniquepov/gifts).



> Written some months ago as a gift for Uniquepov. Also now posted as my Summer Challenge fic - cheating a little, I'm afraid, but circumstances conspired to prevent me writing anything new in time.
> 
> * * *

James has just lit a cigarette when his phone rings. With the smoke held between his lips, he looks down at the screen. Lewis. Probably just checking where he needs to be in the morning, and more than likely making sure that James brings him a coffee and something tasty from the breakfast buffet.

“Missing me already, sir? It’s only been an hour or so since you dropped me off.” And it’s late, too; after eleven o’clock. With an early start tomorrow, he’d have expected his boss to be in bed.

“Funny. I’m on me way back to you. Can’t stay at Lyn’s after all.” James frowns; Lewis had contacted his daughter as soon as Innocent told them they were going on a course in Manchester. Lyn, apparently, had been delighted at the prospect of her father visiting, and had only expressed regret that she didn’t also have room for James. With the new baby, things are apparently a bit chaotic chez Lyn and partner.

“What’s wrong?”

He can hear the resignation in Lewis’s voice as he speaks — on his Bluetooth as he’s driving; James can hear the echo. “Jack’s just getting over a cold. It’s nothing serious — I told Lyn if I’d had a quid for every cold she or Mark had when they were bairns I’d’ve been able to retire years ago. But apparently he’s had several over the winter and the last one turned into an ear infection. So, anyway, I coughed five minutes after walkin’ in, and she asked if I could stay somewhere else. Doesn’t want to risk me bein’ around Jack if I’m coming down with something.”

“Over-protective mum? But she’s a nurse, so—”

“Should know better? Yeah, but you can’t tell her. Anyway, look, I need you to get me a room, okay? I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

James agrees, and Lewis ends the call almost before he’s had time to say goodbye.

* * *

He’s waiting in the car park when Lewis drives in. His boss gets out and rounds the car to the boot to grab his overnight bag before James can say anything.

“Got me room sorted?” Lewis asks as James walks over.

“Not exactly.” And Lewis is definitely not going to be happy. His boss is already tired; they’d had a long day at the office, followed by the drive up to Manchester in rush-hour traffic, Lewis driving while James phoned in reports to Innocent and instructions to the DCs in their absence. Lewis had intended to have a cuppa with his daughter and her partner and then go straight to bed. 

In the light over the building entrance, James sees Lewis scowl. “What’s that mean?”

“They’re fully booked, sir. No rooms to spare. I did take the liberty of phoning around to a couple of nearby hotels, but it’s the start of Fresher’s Week at the universities, so apparently they’re full with parents seeing off their little darlings—”

“Very funny, sergeant,” Lewis growls. “So what options do I have?” 

“Precisely one, by my calculation.” James reaches inside his jacket pocket and pulls out his own room-key. “We can share. Well, alternatively, one of us sleeps in your car, but I don’t recommend that. It’s going to be a cold night.”

“Share?” Lewis doesn’t sound as grateful as James thinks he might have had reason to expect. “What are the rooms like here, then?”

James keeps his expression as steady as he can. “It’s a police training centre, sir. About as luxurious as you would expect.”

“Bloody buggering hell.”

* * *

“Come in, sir.” 

James stands back to allow Lewis to enter his bedroom — now their shared bedroom. And Lewis’s reaction is complete silence.

Well, it’s understandable. The room is not much more than a quarter the size of their shared office, with a standard double bed — and they’re fortunate it’s not a single — and a small desk and single chair. It’s an upright office chair, which James has already decided is not at all suitable for sleeping. There’s adequate floor space to sleep on, certainly, but the receptionist went off-duty before he’d finished phoning round the hotels, and the night porter he spoke to claims not to know where to look for spare bedding.

“Right,” Lewis says after the silence has stretched for close to a minute. It’s spoken with the air of a man who’s reached the end of his patience. “You’d better not be a restless sleeper, Hathaway.”

“I will endeavour not to be so, sir.” 

In mutual silence, they prepare for bed, taking turns in the bathroom. When James emerges, in the T-shirt and shorts he’d brought for sleeping, Lewis is already in bed. “I could sleep on top of the covers, sir,” he suggests. “The room’s warm enough—”

There’s an abrupt click, one they both recognise as the central heating switching itself off. 

Lewis throws back the blanket on the other side of the bed. “Just get yourself in and turn the light off, James. An’ remind me to phone round the hotels again first thing.”

“Sir.”

* * *

In the event, it’s not James who’s the restless sleeper. 

Lewis tosses and turns and thrashes about so much that James suspects he’ll end up with bruises all over his calves and shins, not to mention an aching back. His boss does appear to be asleep, but it can’t possibly be a restful sleep. The only small mercy, for which James is profoundly grateful, is that Lewis isn’t talking in his sleep. It would be unbearable, for many reasons, were James to have proof — rather than just his suspicions — that Lewis is dreaming about his wife. There are selfish reasons, of course, but also because of the overwhelming sense of inadequacy that grips him whenever Lewis’s grief rises sharply to the fore again. 

Lewis turns over again, this time knocking his arm against James’s shoulder. At this rate, neither of them’s going to get a good night’s sleep, which won’t bode well for the training session. Or, more importantly, for Lewis’s state of mind tomorrow. He’ll be grumpy and bloody-minded, leaving James to do damage limitation without access to his usual means of improving his boss’s mood. The coffee at this training centre, from what he’s seen so far, is not what James would consider drinkable, and the breaks are too short to find alternative sources of refreshment. It’ll be evening before he can take Lewis to a decent pub for a relaxing drink and meal.

When Lewis rolls over yet again, James takes a deep breath and takes action. He turns over, facing his boss’s back, and slides up close to Lewis until he can wrap his arm around his boss’s chest. 

It’s the closest he’s ever likely to come to embracing Lewis. That’s not why he’s doing it, of course — or so he tells himself. If the reassurance of touch and a familiar presence close to Lewis will help to settle him and calm the restlessness he seems unable to escape from, then it’s the right thing for James to do. As long as Lewis sees it that way whenever he realises what’s happening, of course, and doesn’t see it as a gross intrusion. 

He waits, heart pounding — he’s taking a hell of a liberty, after all — but Lewis sighs softly, brings his hand up to rest over James’s, and settles into the most relaxed sleeping position he’s adopted since they went to bed.

James closes his eyes again and, miraculously, sleeps.

* * *

When he wakes, the side of his neck is being nuzzled.

They’ve shifted position in the night. Lewis is now behind him, pressed up against him and with his arm wrapped securely around James. 

It’s any number of dreams come true, but it also has the potential to turn into his worst nightmare, depending on Lewis’s reaction when he wakes and realises what he’s doing. 

James opens one eye and focuses blurrily on the clock radio next to the bed. Quarter to seven. Lewis had asked him to set it for quarter past last night, to give them time to be down by shortly after eight for the introductory session, held over breakfast. 

“Can’t bloody let us eat in peace, can they? Got to be blathering at us over our Weetabix,” Lewis had grumbled, and James hadn’t disagreed.

So: another half-hour of this perfect torture, with the risk of discovery at any moment, or...

James slides very carefully out of bed, making every effort not to wake Lewis. His boss mumbles a soft protest, but just buries his head in the pillow and resumes sleeping. James picks up his clothes and pads softly into the bathroom to get dressed. He’ll shower when he gets back; for now, he has another mission in mind.

It’s just after twenty past seven when he lets himself back into the room. Lewis is sitting on the bed, mostly dressed, shirt on but without a tie. “There you are. Must’ve smoked half a pack, time you were gone.”

“How long have you been awake?” Bugger, bugger, bugger... _not_ before James got out of bed, please.

“Heard you close the door behind you. Thought I’d speed things up by taking me shower while you were gone.” Lewis frowns then, his gaze focusing on the oddly-shaped bag James is balancing in one hand. “What’ve you got there?”

“Breakfast. From the Costa five minutes’ drive from here.” He unpacks the bag; tea and Lewis’s favourite cinnamon roll, and a double-strength Americano with an almond croissant for himself. “This way, you’re not getting talked at over breakfast.”

Lewis stands and comes to take his breakfast. “You’re a good bloke, James. Far better than I deserve after bein’ such a miserable sod last night.” He takes a bite of his roll. “Dunno what I’ll do whenever you decide to move on to Inspector.”

James focuses on adding sugar to his coffee. “I doubt that will happen before you retire, sir.” _If ever._

As he glances upwards while still apparently focused on his task, he sees Lewis watching him. But his boss only nods in acknowledgement of his answer. “Well, anyway,” Lewis adds after a moment, “you’d best get ready.” He inclines his head towards the bathroom. James takes the opportunity to gather up his clean clothes. As he’s about to close the ensuite door, Lewis adds, “Thanks for sharin’ your bed last night, too, man. That was right good of you. Hope I didn’t keep you awake?”

“Slept like a baby, sir,” James replies quickly, and immediately closes the door before Lewis can see his face.

_Shit_. As soon as he’s dressed, he’ll have to check uk.hotels.com and find Lewis somewhere for tonight. He can’t go through last night again. He just can’t.

* * *

But finding time to book Lewis a room isn’t as easy as he’d anticipated. He’s just loaded the website on his phone in the dining-room when the room falls silent — and stays silent. He glances up — to find everyone’s gaze on him.

“As per the written instructions sent to all of you beforehand, all phones and other electronic devices are to be switched off and out of sight for the duration of the course,” a too-hearty voice announces from the head of the table.

“Oh, god, it’s Peterson’s clone,” Lewis mutters, and James has to stifle a snort of laughter. Obediently, however, he puts his phone away. Morning break, he resolves.

Morning break, though, it turns out, is not so much a break as it is a different form of pedagogy. Training participants are to collect their drinks and then sit at pre-assigned groups in the break-room to brainstorm problems with current methodologies of suspect-interviewing. And the pre-assignments are designed to ensure that no participant is sitting with someone from the same force. Lewis catches James’s eye, expression resigned, as he takes his seat at a table across the room from James. 

They’re at least given a proper break at lunchtime, but Lewis commandeers him and insists they take their sandwiches outside, so Lewis can vent his frustration about the idiots he’s been teamed up with for most of the morning, who wouldn’t know an interview strategy if it slapped them in the face. James takes the opportunity to gain some relief by sharing his own feelings about the morning’s activities, and before he knows it their break is over and he’s had no opportunity to sort out his boss’s accommodation.

The afternoon session is much more interesting, and James gets completely caught up in discussion of new techniques, so much so that he’s still debating advantages over dinner, much to his boss’s amusement. 

It’s not until they’re in the bar a couple of hours later, finishing their second pints, that his omission occurs to him. “Sir! I meant to book you a hotel room.”

Lewis frowns. “Said I’d do it, didn’t I?”

“Oh!” Relieved, James relaxes. “You found somewhere? Do you want to get your things from my room in a bit, and I’ll phone you a taxi?”

“Ah. About that.” Lewis’s brows furrow. “I didn’t actually book anywhere. Forgot.”

Bugger. His boss certainly isn’t going to fancy a second night sharing with James. And a second night is far too risky from James’ perspective. He got away with it last night — Lewis clearly had no idea that James held him all night, apart from when Lewis held him, and nor does he know that James liked it and wants more — but he knows his boss well enough to know that his chances of getting away with it a second night are slim.

“I’ll look online now for you, sir.” Immediately, he has his phone out and is looking up the hotel website.

“Actually...” His boss’s tone makes James look up slowly. “Was thinking. I mean, if it’s not too much of an imposition — last night was fine, wasn’t it? I could just—” Lewis rubs his eyebrow. “Share your room again, eh?”

_Ohgodno._ He forces a relaxed smile. “Of course, sir. Not an imposition at all, if you’re sure you’ll be comfortable.”

Lewis shrugs, draining his pint. “Slept better last night than I have in weeks. An’ normally I toss and turn for hours in a strange bed. Was worried last night I’d keep you awake.”

James drains his own glass. “Not a bit of it, sir. Well, shall we?” Standing, he takes a deep breath and straightens his shoulders. Into the valley of death rides one James Hathaway, and there’s every chance he’ll be felled by morning, unless he’s very, very careful — and very, very lucky.

* * *

“James?”

Lewis’s voice is low and intimate in the darkness, and James can’t suppress a shiver. “Sir?”

"Being a bit stand-offish, aren't you?

James’s heart slams up into his throat. “Sir...?”

“Well, I mean last night...” Lewis pauses, and the confident amusement in his voice is making a prickly sweat crawl up James’s arms. “You seemed happy to... cuddle.”

“I’m sorry—” Abruptly, he breaks off. That’s not condemnation or anger in Lewis’s voice. And if his boss really had a problem with what had happened, he wouldn’t have asked to share with James again, would he? “I was.” He turns around to face Lewis. “And, actually, so were you. I just didn’t realise you were aware of any of it.”

“I was, for a bit, anyway. It was nice. But then you sneaked out of bed early.” Lewis shifts closer. “Couldn’t decide at first whether you were embarrassed, or worried about how I’d react.”

“You know me too well, sir.” James smiles faintly at his boss. Both reasons are correct, of course, but at least Lewis hasn’t hit on the main one: that James had liked being held by Lewis too much for comfort. Too much to risk Lewis finding out.

“I liked it,” Lewis repeats. “Was surprised at first, but once I thought about it I wasn’t — we sit close all the time, don’t we? Not much different, that.”

Lewis isn’t moving any closer, though. For a moment, James is confused — and then it occurs to him. Lewis is his boss, and they’ve both been through seminars on harassment, abuse of authority and so on. This is James’s move to make.

He slides nearer to Lewis and extends his arm. With no hesitation whatsoever, Lewis moves until his body is pressed against James’s, and he wraps his arm around James’s chest.

Sleep tugs him under moments later.

* * *

James is being kissed.

Warm lips are pressing against his, expertly coaxing a response that he gladly gives. Fingers are tangled in his hair and a solid body is pressed against his side, and a stubbly cheek is brushing against his.

_Christ!_ Lewis... he must be dreaming, imagining he’s with his wife, and when he wakes he’s going to be—

“James.” 

The rough, low-voiced name is unmistakeable. But it doesn’t make any sense. Lewis _knows_ , and he’s still kissing him? James catches his breath and brings his hand up to stroke Lewis’s arm. “Sir,” he murmurs, encouraging, against the lips that still cover his.

“ _Hell_!” Abruptly, Lewis rears upwards and back, and sits upright in the bed, breathing heavily.

“Sir?” Is he supposed to apologise? Take the blame? Pretend he was asleep and has only just woken now, instead of seconds earlier?

“I’m sorry.” Lewis sounds awkward as well as contrite, and James hastens to make an attempt, at least, to reassure him.

“It’s fine. I realise you were asleep...” But asleep and saying James’s name? It doesn’t make sense. “You didn’t know it was me.”

Another sigh from Lewis, and he turns to look at James. There’s awkwardness in his expression, but not the distaste James has been imagining. “I did know, man. Woke up an’ you were right there and... But I shouldn’t have assumed you’d want to. An’ me bein’ your boss... puts you under pressure, like.”

James can’t help it. He bursts out laughing, and it’s as much in delight at discovering that Lewis actually does want _him_ as it is at his boss’s ridiculousness. “If you sincerely imagine for one second that I’d have any difficulty saying no to you, sir...” He shakes his head, then shifts closer and brushes his lips against Lewis’s jaw. “All right?”

Lewis wraps his arms around James and pulls him in for a warm, deep kiss. “Very all right, canny lad.”

* * *

Some time later, James takes advantage of the fact that the alarm still hasn’t gone off to stretch luxuriously, landing mostly on top of Lewis. “Are we having a conference fling, then, sir?” 

“Less of the sir,” Lewis growls. “Wouldn’t be much of one, would it, since the course ends after lunch. Don’t do one-night stands anyway.”

“I don’t either — at least, not intentionally,” James confesses.

“Good. This won’t be one, then.”

“What, are we scheduled for another conference, then—” James smirks. “—Robbie?”

“Let’s just say I might not put up more than a token protest next time Innocent wants to send us somewhere,” Lewis says, as his hand starts moving in interesting patterns over James’s hip.

James can think of some useful suggestions for what Lewis could say, but as there’s only ten minutes before the alarm’s due he decides the time — and his mouth — can be put to much better use.

* * *


End file.
